


Dying Embers

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Chicago Med, Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29851146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: Sloane had enough on her plate without adding more, yet that is precisely what happens when a trip to the ER brings her face to face with someone she hadn't seen in years. Although she would have been lying to pretend she had not missed the two brothers she grew up with, she never wanted to find a connection with anyone else. Especially not a man with ghosts of his own. Marcel/OC.
Relationships: Crockett Marcel & Original Female Character(s)





	Dying Embers

"Well if it isn't our lucky night. Vinny seems like he's in a great mood, as usual," The familiar voice quipped, a peal of laughter echoing above the dull thump of the bass that emanated from the speakers situated at odd intervals along the walls and ceiling, "Better hope your tables give good tips"

"They always do."

"Probably because they like your red hair."

"Why on earth would they care about my hair?" Sloane scoffed, flicking her eyes towards her fellow waitress and friend, with one brow quirked in obvious doubt, "It's just hair."

"You're the only redhead here. Makes you exotic."

"Oh please…"

"I'm serious," The other woman pressed, nudging her companion in the side with an elbow, and laughing again as she received an almost immediate nudge back in retaliation, "Who would've thought. My friend, the newest hot commodity."

"Shut up."

"You only protest because it's true."

"You're full of it, you know that, Lil?" Sloane accused, her own tentative smile undercutting any potential harshness that her remark may have possessed, though that smile was relatively short-lived, "Besides, you know you've got a few regulars that worship the ground you walk on."

"Do I? I hadn't noticed."

"Bull."

"Wow. And she's real polite, too," Lily retorted, risking a glance over her shoulder at the tell-tale sound of keys jangling as their boss stumped his way across the room to the door, to open the bar for the evening ahead, "No wonder Vinny hired you on the spot."

"Only after I let him cop a feel."

"Pig."

"It is what it is," Sloane replied, hating that her tone had become so resigned to the reality of their situation, and yet knowing that it was far better than the alternative, "If he likes us, it's easier. You know it as well as I do."

"Define easier."

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe I do," Lily agreed, managing a one-shouldered shrug in the wake of the unspoken truth that rested between them, before glancing over her shoulder again as the first of the night's customers swaggered through the door, pausing just long enough to exchange what was apparently a very funny joke with Vinny, and laughter grated over the dim music in response, "You want this one, or you want me to take him?"

"Flip a coin?"

"Ever the traditionalist…"

"You know it," Sloane confirmed, fishing in the pocket of her jeans for a spare bit of change, and allowing a satisfied smile to cross her lips as she landed on a partially worn quarter. Drawing it out, and handing it over to the woman who had become her friend-her first friend-after what had felt like an eternity on her own, Sloane watched as Lily balanced the coin on top of her thumb, and flipped it into the air, her breath catching in her throat as a sudden realization came to mind that threatened to blot out any of the relief she may have felt at the camaraderie between them.

Waiting for that coin to fall suddenly seemed so much like waiting for the hangman's noose, and whether the thought was overly dramatic or not, Sloane found herself forced to cling to the one thing that would have the power to keep her standing. To keep the smile on her face, and the laughter in her voice when she heard the same stale joke for the hundredth time in one evening, in hopes that the man she waited on would see fit to reward her for her acquiescence with more than just a pat on the ass, or flurry of frantic hands and heavy breathing in the alley behind the bar…

Riley. All of this was for Riley, and she would be damned if she let that innocent little soul know one iota of the hard truths the real world had to offer.

If she had to grin and bear it in the meantime, until something better came along, then she supposed she would do precisely that.

…


End file.
